


Satin Stitch

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clothing Theft, F/M, Fourth Doctor's Scarf, The Doctor being very very done, the Master being dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: The TARDIS has a wardrobe spanning a total square footage greater than Versailles, with clothing from almost every planet, time period, and culture imaginable. There are nearly infinite potential outfits contained within the sprawling expanses of closets and racks; more combinations of clothing than there are stars in some galaxies. Someone could spend a lifetime cataloguing it and never come close to finishing.Thus, the Master has no reason to be wearing a shirt that the Doctor knows is hers.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: Thoschei Prompt Exchange 2020





	Satin Stitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fluffysfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/gifts).



The TARDIS has a wardrobe spanning a total square footage greater than Versailles, with clothing from almost every planet, time period, and culture imaginable. There are nearly infinite potential outfits contained within the sprawling expanses of closets and racks; more combinations of clothing than there are stars in some galaxies. Someone could spend a lifetime cataloguing it and never come close to finishing.

Thus, the Master has  _ no reason _ to be wearing a shirt that the Doctor knows is hers. It's an old one, several bodies ago at least, but that doesn't make her less annoyed. She had loved that shirt, back when she was all velvet and long hair.

"Is that my shirt?" She already knows the answer, but maybe he didn't know it was hers. Dubious, but possible.

The Master looks up from the broken vortex manipulator he's messing with and shrugs. "Yes. And?"

He goes back to fiddling with the manipulator. The Doctor tries to ignore the way the shirt pulls nicely at his arms as he does so. After a moment of quiet, the Master glances up again and then grins.

"Enjoying the view, Doctor?" he teases.

For a moment, she’s tempted to be honest and admit that yes, she is. Then she remembers that he’s almost certainly doing it on purpose to mess with her, and she decides to be contrary.

"It doesn't fit you right," she mutters.

It's not entirely a lie. The purloined shirt may not fit him  _ properly, _ but it sure fits him well.

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

For a moment, the tension between them grows. The Doctor can feel her hearts speed up. Then, with one excessively cheerful word, she breaks it.

"Yep!"

The Master refuses to let it go, however. "And that's why you were staring?"

She nods. "Mm-hmm. You can go back to whatever you're doing now."

He hums dubiously, but refocuses on the manipulator. The Doctor makes a hasty retreat from their shared workshop and asks the TARDIS to hide her other shirts from him in the future.

Perhaps, in retrospect, the Doctor should have seen this one coming. After all, she had technically only requested that her  _ shirts _ be hidden.

Still, she doesn't know where he managed to find the suit jacket from her previous body. Last the Doctor knew, the poor thing had been abandoned in Graham's house. Apparently, the TARDIS had kept backups.

The first time she sees him in the suit jacket - slightly too big for him, the sleeves pushed up so they won't fall over his hands - she's pretty sure her brains stop working for a moment. Surely he must know  _ good _ he looks like that.

If the smug grin on his lips is any indication, he most certainly does.

"Found this in one of the game rooms," he says casually, as though he isn't doing anything out of the ordinary. "What d'you think, does it  _ suit _ me?"

The Doctor barely even registers the pun in her flustered state. "Ye- no. Not at all."

"Hmm." He frowns. "That's too bad. I've been trying to experiment with my look, you know? Purple and black is a good color scheme, but sometimes the style gets repetitive."

The Doctor makes a vague noise of agreement and leaves at the earliest possible opportunity to go take several deep breaths in a corner until she doesn't feel the overwhelming urge to kiss him anymore.

When she finds the Master draping himself across the kitchen table with her fourth self’s - well, technically, the Doctor isn’t sure  _ what _ number that one was, but it’s easiest to think of him that way - scarf taking up nearly as much room as he is, she’s pretty sure that, at long last, she’s reached her wits’ end.

“What are you doing.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but she doesn’t have it in her to pretend to be surprised by his antics anymore.

With a dramatic sigh, the Master sits up and looks at her. “I have been trying, for  _ weeks, _ to get your attention, love. And you have not been very obliging.”

“You’re living on the TARDIS,” the Doctor says slowly. “You can have my attention any time you want.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” he complains.

The Doctor normally prides herself on her quick thinking and deduction skills. Right now, however, her brains are drawing absolute blanks. It’s not like she’s been closing herself off from him - she’s been actively working on not doing that. Between the Vault and everything that had happened on Gallifrey, the Master clearly needs her support, and she has given it to him whenever he's asked.  


She pauses. There’s no way it’s that simple a reason. He can’t possibly be that dramatic - no, of course he can. He’s the Master.

Incredulously, she says, “Are you seriously doing this because you’re upset about having to  _ ask me _ for attention?”

The Master grins at her like she’s just figured out the secret to life, the universe, and everything. “And because this scarf, as horrible as it is to look at, is actually very comfy. I’d say your taste has only gotten better since, but, well...” He gestures wordlessly at her coat.

“You’re absurd,” she mutters. She comes as close as she can bear to true honesty with him, and he makes a nuisance of himself because she doesn’t spend every moment with him.

Before he can make yet another jab at her clothing preferences, the Doctor grabs a generous handful of scarf and uses it to pull him into a kiss. The Master makes a delighted noise against her lips, and through the skin contact she can feel his satisfaction at his plan’s success.

After a moment, he pulls back from the kiss, still grinning. “You know, dear, as good as your clothing looks on me…”

The Doctor groans. She can already tell where this is going, and she hates it.

“It would look so much better on your bedroom floor.”


End file.
